


squeeze me (please don’t tease me)

by orphan_account



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), Justice Society of America (Comics)
Genre: 1940s, Age Difference, Blind Character, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 20:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They’re casual about their secret identities in the Justice Society, but they rarely see one another out of their costumes, and they don’t usually get together one-on-one.Doctor Mid-Nite feels like he’s crossing at least six different lines by having the Atom in his home. In Charles McNider’s home. In his bedroom.





	squeeze me (please don’t tease me)

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a prequel to All-Star Squadron #1, aka the one where the Atom and Dr. Mid-Nite go on a date to a football game together.
> 
> Reposted after it was accidentally deleted. Originally posted earlier this month.
> 
> Slightly tweaked after reading the All-Star Squadron preview in Justice League of America #193, which gives more context to the football date.

They’re casual about their secret identities in the Justice Society, but they rarely see one another out of their costumes, and they don’t usually get together one-on-one.

Doctor Mid-Nite feels like he’s crossing at least six different lines by having the Atom in his home. In Charles McNider’s home. In his bedroom.

Myra isn’t here. She has the weekend off to visit her mother. She had worried about leaving poor, blind Dr. McNider alone for two days, but he had assured her he would be fine.

He had told the Atom after that day’s Justice Society meeting, when they were both leaving and lucky enough to be alone.

The Atom had paused and said “Are you inviting me back to your house, Doc?”

“I suppose I am,” Doctor Mid-Nite had replied without missing a beat. “Are you saying yes?”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be,” the Atom said with a lazy roll of his head.

It makes more sense for Doctor Mid-Nite and the Atom to be seen together than Charles McNider, physician turned crime expose writer, and Al Pratt, college student, so they stay in costume as they head to Charles’ home.

Charles is able to get them both inside without anyone spotting them and wondering what Doctor Mid-Nite and the Atom are doing sneaking into Dr. McNider’s house.

“I leave a window open so Hooty can come and go as he pleases on nights when Doctor Mid-Nite isn’t needed,” Charles says as he and the Atom creep into his bedroom. Hooty is on his perch at the moment, and he hoots loudly as Charles and the Atom come inside. Charles knows his partner’s tones well enough to be able to tell Hooty is greeting them.

“Hi, Hooty,” the Atom says softly. “You remember me, don’t you?” He reaches a hand out.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Charles murmurs. It turns out to be unnecessary - rather than try to bite the Atom or shy away, Hooty lets him gently scratch the top of his head.

It’s sweet. Even so, Charles feels compelled to say “You shouldn’t do that.”

The Atom turns to look at him, still rubbing Hooty. Charles tries not to sound like he’s scolding the Atom as he explains “Owls have a coating on their feathers that make it water-resistant, and stroking them causes it to wear off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the Atom says. He pulls away from Hooty, who hoots loudly in obvious annoyance.

Charles doesn’t particularly want Hooty to see what might happen next, and he doubts Hooty would, either. He opens the window, and even though this is the first time he’s done something like this since he’s been blinded, since Hooty has become a part of his life, Hooty thankfully takes the hint and flies outside.

“Think he’ll be back soon?” the Atom asks.

“Owls are naturally independent. Hooty is no exception. He’ll probably come back around morning.”

“Does he ever bring you back dead mice or something like that?” the Atom asks. “My mother used to have a cat who did that all the time.”

They’re casual about their secret identities in the Justice Society, but the Atom’s never mentioned his mother before. Charles says so, and he can practically hear the Atom roll his eyes as he says “Everyone’s got a mother, Doc.”

The Atom sits down on the end of Charles’ bed and takes his mask off.

Al Pratt has hair that’s flattened and mussed from being compressed under cloth, and a pleasant, thin face. It’s not the face of a tough guy who beats up criminals with nothing but his fists and sheer gumption. It’s the face of a college student. Practically still a kid.

It’s easy to forget how young Al is. He’s twenty-one, barely old enough to drink, and doesn’t that make Charles feel like a heel. Charles has ten years on Al and that might as well be a lifetime.

Al reclines back, using his elbows to keep himself propped up. Laid out like this, it’s easy to admire the way his costume exposes his chest and his arms and his legs, all taut and brawny and beautiful. And now there’s a face to put to the body, one that is looking Charles over almost lasciviously. Charles is wondering if that’s how Al looks at him all the time and it’s just hidden by the mask when Al stretches a leg out to kick Charles’ boot.

“You going to stare all night?”

“I’m not taking advantage of you, am I?” Charles asks without thinking.

Al scowls at him. He sits up indignantly. “You think I’d be here if I didn’t want to be?”

“You might not know what you’re getting into.”

That was the wrong thing to say - or the right thing, because Al grabs Charles by his vest and pulls him down onto the bed, on top of Al’s body, warm and hard. Charles has less than a moment to react because then Al rolls them both over so Charles is on his back, with Al pinning him to his mattress. Then he shifts so he’s straddling his fellow JSAer, and the sudden wonderful pressure makes Charles gasp.

Al leans forward so he and Charles are chest to chest. Charles gets an earful of Al’s heartbeat, out of sync with his own but steady nonetheless. Their foreheads bump together, and then Al is kissing Charles.

The first time they kissed was right after Charles had removed a bullet from Al’s shoulder four months ago. Charles spends more time patching up Al than any other member of the Justice Society, both because he doesn’t have any powers and because he’s always throwing himself into danger head-first. That, along with the fact that they had been alone in the headquarters together, was probably why Al had felt comfortable enough to pull up his mask, lean over, and kiss Charles.

Charles hadn’t really known how to react. He’d done the only thing he could think of, which was to pull Al’s mask back down over his mouth and push him back into his seat so Charles could bandage his wound.

The second time was at the next Justice Society meeting. Al had taken Charles aside to apologize for last month. He had been delirious with pain, and hallucinating, Al wasn’t one of those guys and he didn’t think Charles was one of those guys, how could he, and -

Charles had done the only thing he could think of, which had been to pull Al’s mask up to expose his mouth and kiss him.  
It hadn’t lasted very long, because the rest of the Justice Society had been right in the other room. Charles hadn’t picked up a man since he was blinded, but he still knew that caution was important above all else.

Al’s mouth is warm and insistent against Charles’, and all Charles wants to do, all he can do, is yield to the hardness of Al’s body and the softness of his mouth.

Al breaks the kiss after what feels like an hour and sits up. Charles looks up at him, mouth still open, probably looking as dazed and ridiculous as he feels.

He can’t quite make out the shade of Al’s hair. Colors are a little tricky to make out with his infrared goggles, and Al’s hair could very well be light brown or dark blond or something in between.

“What color is your hair?”

“Red.”

Charles grins.

“Something funny, Doc?”

“Not at all. It’s just...unexpected.”

Al grins back at him, amused, and Charles feels a stab of pride at being able to get that kind of reaction from him, coupled with relief that Al isn’t sensitive about his hair the way he’s sensitive about his height.

Al rubs at Charles’ neck, and even through the material of his cowl Charles can feel it.

“You’re blind without your goggles, right?” Al asks.

“Unless it’s dark, yes.”

Al hums thoughtfully. “Do you want to leave your mask on? Or turn the lights off?”

“Then you wouldn’t be able to see.”

“I’d manage.”

“I have more experience managing than you,” Charles says. He pulls his cowl down and everything goes black.

Al’s hand, warm and soft, moves up into his hair. His fingers tangle in it as his palm cups Charles’ cheek. “You’re blond? How...unexpected.”

Charles laughs. “I suppose that’s fair.”

Al shifts downward so he’s sitting in Charles’ lap and Charles can sit up. Al pushes their mouths together again, and this time Charles has enough presence of mind to kiss back, to not just let Al ravish his mouth, as wonderful as that was.

Charles can’t see Al right now, but it’s a so much better that Charles can actually touch him. He makes the most of it, running his hands down Al’s sides, down his legs, stopping at his knees and moving upwards again to cup his backside. Al’s got gorgeous legs and they are always on display and sometimes Charles feels like he’s going insane seeing them every month like clockwork and not being able to touch them.

Al’s legs are firm and muscular and warm to the touch, and every brush and press of Charles’ fingertips makes Al shift and sigh beautifully in Charles’ lap, against Charles’ mouth. He runs his thumbs over the skin of Al’s inner thighs and Al jerks against him without any warning. The skin there must be sensitive. Charles plans to take full advantage of that information.

He digs his thumbs into Al’s thighs more forcefully, right where the adductor magnus should be, right below his groin muscles. It gets the reaction Charles was hoping for. Al practically melts in his lap and his grip on Charles’ shoulders tightens.

“You’re a tease, Doc,” Al grumbles against Charles’ ear.

“I thought you’d appreciate taking it slow,” Charles replies.

“You’ve got me in your bed already. It’s a little late to take it slow.”

He punctuates his statement by grinding down on Charles’ lap, and Charles has to bite his lip to stop from crying out.

Al keeps at it, and soon Charles gives up on clinging to his dignity and lets himself be reduced to a pile of whimpers and barely coherent begging, “Al” and “please” and “yes.”

And then Charles remembers they’re both still dressed, and if they stain their costumes it’s going to be deeply embarrassing getting them cleaned.

He starts to say “We should probably -“

“- costumes off, right,” Al finishes.

Al rolls off of Charles, and as much of a shame as it is to have the pressure off Charles knows this is a necessity. He stands up and undoes his belt and his vest and drops them onto the floor. He hangs his cape and cowl on a bedpost. Once his pants are off and he’s fully naked, he sits back down on his bed. A hand is on his chest, pushing him back down onto his back.

Al, warm and heavy, straddles his legs, and Charles is almost convinced he’s going to climax just from the feeling of Al’s bare skin against his. He doesn’t, thankfully.

Something pokes against Charles’ stomach. Charles snakes his hand down and grips it, carefully and firmly. It’s short but thick, much like Al himself, and Al’s breath hitches almost imperceptibly.

“Tell me what you want,” Charles says.

“Just move, Doc,” Al says in a voice thick as cement.

Charles does as he’s told. He strokes Al with surgical precision, hoping to draw this out for as long as he can, wanting so badly for this to be good for Al. He takes in every little noise Al makes, every gasp and sigh, every little jerk of his hips forward.

Then Al says “I have an idea,” and then he’s pushing Charles’ hand away, and there’s something pressed up against Charles’ length and a firm grip around both. Al’s got big hands for such a little guy, and Charles imagines it’s easy for him to take them both in his hand. He strokes them more quickly and more clumsily than Charles’ ministrations. Not that Charles is complaining. Even if he was capable of forming real sentences now, he would not be complaining.

Charles is a man of intellect, first and foremost. When he had first been blinded, he had adapted the best way he could. He gave up his medical practice and turned to writing exposes. When he discovered he could see in the pitch black of night, he used that to create a new identity, one that could personally strike blows against criminal scum, one that could still practice medicine for his fellow mystery men. No matter what happened, Charles was a man who dug his heels in and fought in whatever way he could.

Charles isn’t fighting now. All he can do was let himself be swallowed up by sensation: Al’s dick pressed against his own, Al’s hand encircling him and stroking him, Al’s mouth hot on his neck, the little noises Al is making as he gets closer and closer to release.

Charles finishes first, coming with a shout that leaves him feeling beautifully, blissfully empty. Al finishes not soon after with an oddly melodic groan, and then there’s something wet on Charles’s stomach.

After a moment where they both collect their thoughts, Al gets off of Charles and says “You stay here. I’ll get a towel or something.”

“I know this place better than you do,” Charles says as he gets off the bed.

Al huffs, but Charles hears the bedsprings squeak as the bed adjusts to his weight.  
Charles cleans himself off and comes back with a wet towel for Al. Neither of them say anything, and Charles hopes it’s not a sign that Al regrets this.

He gets his answer when Al says “It’ll be a bitch getting a bus back to Calvin City this late at night.”

“You‘re welcome to stay the night,” Charles says.

Al’s hand encircles Charles’ wrist and he pulls Charles down into bed with him. He settles next to Charles and tucks his head into the crook of Charles’ shoulder.

“I was going to sleep on the couch,” Charles murmurs.

“I promise not to kick you out of bed,” Al says with a soft wheeze of a laugh.

A thumb circles Charles’ nipple, then starts rubbing against it, steady and almost soothing.

“You like football?”

It’s so unexpected a question that Charles can’t help but laugh a little before he answers “Not really.”

“Not even if it’s the last game of the season? Not even if it’s the Redskins against the Eagles?”

“I’m not sure who those are.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Al says with a laugh. “Look, we’ll be in DC anyway with Hawkman and I’ve already got the tickets. Unless you’re planning to stay in the hotel room while I go to Griffith Stadium with just Carter for company.” Al’s breath is warm against his neck. “Come on, Doc.”

There’s a flapping at the window, and a soft hoot.

“Hey, Hooty,” Al says. “Should your partner go with me to the last game of football season next week?”

Hooty hoots loudly.

“See?” Al sounds very pleased with himself. “Even Hooty thinks you should go.”

“I suppose that makes me outvoted,” Charles drawls.

“Democracy’s a wonderful thing,” Al says before he presses a kiss against Charles’ lips.


End file.
